


T.A.P.S.A.F.F., or How Jemma Simmons Ended Up Dating Cruciferous Vegetable-Heads

by AoSCrackWhore



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Crack, F/M, Fitz is a grump, Humor, Jemma Simmons Has No Chill, Milton is the worst, Pining, Pre-Canon, Sci-Ops Era (Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D.), Science Babies, but it's not his fault, it was hot in the lab, sort-of flashback to scene from 3x19
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-24
Updated: 2016-09-24
Packaged: 2018-08-17 03:30:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8128759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AoSCrackWhore/pseuds/AoSCrackWhore
Summary: It gets hot in the lab; things come to a head as Jemma and Fitz try out different methods of cooling off, with varied results.
Taps aff, according to Urban Dictionary:Glaswegian (Scottish). Literally "tops off." Originally an expression for hot weather, hot enough to take one's shirt off. A phenomenon rarely seen in Glasgow. Now an expression describing good times being had. Often issued as an instruction.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I'm still new at this, so please let me know if I mess something up with the tags, warnings, rating, etc. Hope you enjoy my take on how Milton could've possibly happened. Un-beta'd.

“Oh, for _Pete’s sake_ ,” Fitz exclaimed and opened the refrigerator, essentially sticking his entire upper body into it. He let out a pleased sigh.

 

“Stop doing that, you’ll ruin the samples,” Jemma said, pulling him away and shutting the fridge door.

 

“Simmons, what good are the samples if we’re not alive anymore to use them?”

 

“Ugh, Fitz, don’t be so overdramatic,” Jemma scoffed and started back towards her desk. “They’ll fix the AC any minute now, I’m sure of it.”

 

“No,” Fitz shook his head, “nah-uh, this is unacceptable. It’s inhumane, is what this is. How are we expected to do our work in these conditions? They could’ve at least sent us home, or given us an off-site assignment or something. I’m going to file complaints all the way to the top…”

 

“Fitz, for the love of my sanity, you’re a brilliant scientist, can’t you figure out other ways to keep cool!?”

 

“I’ve got rudimentary drones that could repair this problem in less than 20 minutes,” Fitz was grumbling under his breath as he was moving towards the sink, “but, noooo, maintenance had to take care of it, protocols, rules, regulations, blah blah blah…”

 

At her desk, Jemma had her sweaty forehead nestled in her palms and was desperately trying to focus on the scientific paper she’d been meaning to read for three weeks now, which in their jobs was essentially ages. The last thing she needed in the sweltering heat of the lab was a grumpy Fitz milling about with nothing to do.

 

“…I mean, why would they, it’s not like we work at the most sophisticated research facility in the world, why would we expect to have basic amenities!? Bloody bureaucracy. And why haven’t they planned for just such a situation? We’re at bloody Sci-Ops, not in an underfunded shed at the edge of the jungle somewhere…”

 

“Fitz, will you please just…” Jemma started saying just as water sprayed all over Fitz’s front from the tap he’d opened forcefully, the stream bouncing violently off of some bowls and beakers sitting in the sink. She had to bite her lip to suppress a bubbling giggle.

 

“Oh, that’s just bloody fantastic! Like my shirt wasn’t sticking to me already as it was! What is _wrong_ with this day?” Fitz said in his usual annoyed tone and walked towards the lab-adjacent bathroom, taking a towel down from the rack and starting to rub at the wet part of his tee.

 

“It would probably go faster if you stuck it under the hand dryer,” Jemma said, somehow managing to keep her voice level in between muffled chuckles.

 

“Excellent suggestion, Dr. Simmons,” Fitz said and, to Jemma’s massive surprise, pulled his soaked t-shirt off over his head and started rolling it around like a piece of dough under the humming electric hand dryer.

 

Jemma didn’t know where to look. Her eyes went wide like saucers. Had he meant for her to see that? Was he even aware that the door was sufficiently ajar for her to be able to get an eyeful of his naked torso? Did he simply react without thinking? This was a boundary they’d never crossed before in the many years of their friendship and professional partnership. Were they at a stage where they were this comfortable with each other? She’d never even considered a scenario where she’d be exposed to the bare planes of Fitz’s flesh, not even a medical emergency one. This was all so… confusing. He seemed unaware of her gaze, so she chose to turn around, pinching the front of her shirt to fan herself. Boy, was it hot in the lab _indeed_.

 

Fitz emerged from the bathroom with his shirt back on and only a vaguely darker outline of the splash visible on it. He chuckled to himself and said, “of course, just what I needed today – a warm t-shirt and standing next to a hot dryer for five minutes to dry it off. It’s no use, Simmons, we’re doomed. Today’s doomed.”

 

“If you’ll excuse me, Fitz, I think I’m going to go see what’s taking them so long with the repairs,” she said as she started to walk out of the lab at a pace quicker than strictly necessary. “Be back in a jiff.”

 

“Tell them about the drones,” Fitz tried to shout after her before the automatic glass doors hissed shut, “and can you fetch me a cold Coke from the vending machine?”

 

Jemma raised a thumbs-up over her head in acknowledgement.

 

Once further down the hallway and away from view of the lab, she leaned back against the cool concrete wall and took a few deep breaths. Her head was spinning – from the heat, she was sure. What else could explain the frankly annoying tingling sensation that seemed to be washing over her body in waves and making her legs feel weak? She closed her eyes and continued with the conscious breathing. If she could just get herself under control, maybe this day wouldn’t be completely wasted after all. Other scientists had toiled in much less manageable conditions than her, surely, and had not been hindered by such first-world expectations as round-the-clock climate control. She tried to do a rundown in her head of all the samples that could spoil as a result of the unexpected indoor heatwave and mentally assemble the report she’d undoubtedly have to file tomorrow, but her mind kept flashing to the expanses of pale flesh she’d just gotten an unexpected glimpse of. God, she thought and gulped. What was all _that_ about? She’d never before had any sense of Fitz’s… physique, and she had to admit, she’d found it quite aesthetically pleasing. She chided herself for implying in her own head in any way that she didn’t consider her best friend to be reasonably attractive. Why was she so surprised, anyway? And why was she reacting in this way? He was her best friend and most trusted colleague, for Pete’s sake. These were highly irregular and most inappropriate thoughts, especially as they seemed to be involuntary and consuming, impeding her ability to work. And that simply would not do. She had to get her head on straight, drink some water to counteract the very obvious dehydration she was suffering from, and at least attempt to get some work done. It was then that she felt a hand on her shoulder and nearly jumped out of her skin.

 

“[Jesus Haploid Christ!](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jesus_H._Christ)” she yelped and recoiled away from the tall man standing next to her, clearly having snuck up on her with the intent of scaring her, she thought to herself angrily. She made an effort to compose herself when she saw the alarm on the man’s face, who had now taken a few steps back and was holding up the offending hand in surrender. “You scared me,” she said by way of explaining herself, pulling at the bottom of her shirt to adjust it.

 

“I’m so sorry, uhm, I was just, uhm, I was just checking to see if you were alright. I addressed you, but you didn’t respond. You’re Dr. Simmons, right?” the man asked, eyes apologetic. Jemma’s face and posture relaxed and her erratic breathing seemed to settle down.

 

“No, I’m the one who should be sorry, Agent. I do apologize, my mind was somewhere else and with this abominable heat…” she trailed off, finally able to have a proper look at the person standing in front of her. He certainly had a… peculiar head. “And you are?”

 

“Uhm, Agent Milton, pleased to make your acquaintance.”

 

Jemma extended a hand to shake his and gave him a good once-over. He was a rather large individual, clearly a field agent, judging by the snug dark tee and many-pocketed trousers he was wearing, giving her a fine outline of his muscled upper body and hefty thighs.

 

“Pleasure,” Jemma said with the softest smile she could muster, and that’s when it hit her. Pleasure! Of course! How could a _biologist_ of all people fail to realize what she was experiencing!? She did quick mental arithmetic and it only confirmed her hypothesis – she was clearly ovulating! That explained everything – the increased body temperature, the jitteriness, the inappropriate thoughts about her completely innocent colleague who just happened to be male and had done nothing to deserve to be objectified by her in the workplace! And it _had_ been a while since she’d dated anyone or “taken matters into her own hands,” as it were, what with the late hours and constant work… It made all the sense in the world that she’d be deprived. The body’s biological needs are nothing to be trifled with, Jemma asserted to herself and resolved to “release the tension,” for no other reason than it was clearly impacting her work and potentially jeopardizing her relationship with her best friend in the world. Her work was her life and it was her duty as an agent to make sure she was not distracted in any way, shape or form from what was in front of her. She realized she was still holding the man’s hand and withdrew it, resting it on her shoulder to play with a lock of hair from her ponytail.

 

“So, Agent Milton, I’m sorry, but how do you know who I am? I don’t believe we’ve met before,” Jemma said in a lower octave of voice than she’d anticipated.

 

“Well, uhm, you’re a bit of a S.H.I.E.L.D. celebrity, Dr. Simmons. Uhm, I’m pretty sure everyone on this base knows who you are,” the now blushing hulk of a man said, looking at the floor.

 

“Oh,” Jemma said, a bit flustered and her cheeks burning even more than before. “I’m sorry, but I don’t believe I’ve noticed _you_ around. How long have you been stationed here?”

 

“Uhm, for just about three months, I suppose. I, uh, got transferred in from the Triskelion,” he said in an uncertain tone.

 

“Oh, that’s nice,” Jemma said, rotating her body a bit side to side. “And how are you liking it here,” she asked and ducked her chin lower, looking up at him through her eyelashes.

 

“Well, uhm, it’s fantastic now, I should say,” he said as he crossed his wrists low behind his back, his chest puffing out, making Jemma’s gaze travel up and down like an elevator between his face and pecs. “Lots of, uhm… Lovely people,” he said, rocking slightly back and forth on the balls of his feet, still not looking directly at her face.

 

“Indeed,” Jemma said. “Um, do you know how long before they’ve fixed the AC, by any chance? My lab partner’s started to go a bit cuckoo, I’m afraid.”

 

“Uhm, shouldn’t be long now, some wires caught fire and they had to, uhm, drill into the wall and all, to make sure everything’s, uh, safe.”

 

“Excellent,” she said, her face now mostly a smile. “In that case, would you like to escort me back to the lab?” Jemma asked with an expectant smile.

 

“Certainly, Dr. Simmons. It would be my pleasure,” he said, positioning himself on her right. “Did you, uhm, have a lot of work to do today?”

 

“Not more than usual, but the heat prevented us from doing much, what with unstable chemicals having to be handled and everything. Besides, it was too hard to focus,” Jemma said and absentmindedly ran the hand that was playing with her hair gently down the unbuttoned part of her shirt. She looked up to see the man’s Adam’s apple bob up and down as he swallowed audibly, eyes clearly now trained ahead of them with some effort. “How has _your_ day been?”

 

“Uhm, not much out of the ordinary, at least not until I met you, of course,” he grinned. “I can’t wait for the workday to be over, if I’m being honest,” he chuckled.

 

“Oh? Big plans?” Jemma prodded tentatively.

 

“Uhm, no. Not as of yet, at least,” Milton said suggestively.

 

“Would you by any chance like to get a drink, then? Get better acquainted?” Jemma said, direct as ever.

 

“Uhm, that would be… Uhm, that would be amazing, Dr. Simmons. Uhm, truly,” he said, clearing his throat.

 

“Excellent. And please, call me Jemma. Six o’clock, in the front lobby?” she asked eagerly.

 

“Uhm, sure, yeah, yeah, see you there, uhm, _Jemma_.” His face was now red as a beet.

 

“It’s a date, then,” she beamed at him, stopping in front of the glass doors of the lab just as the AC whirred back into action. “Ooh, well that’s a relief, now, isn’t it?” she asked.

 

“It sure is, Dr.… _Jemma_ ,” he corrected himself. He looked up and over her head behind her to see a shorter man standing in the lab, looking at them with his brow furrowed. Milton raised a beefy arm in a wave, causing the man to scrunch up his face in confusion even more. “Is, uhm, is he okay? That’s Dr. Fitz, right?” Jemma turned around to look.

 

“Yes. Oh, he’ll be fine, he just has a hard time dealing with heat, being from up north and all,” she waived a hand in front of her in dismissal. “Don’t mind him, he’s just a big ol’ grump,” Jemma said affectionately. “We’re all set for tonight?”

 

“We sure are. I’ll, uhm… See you later?”

 

“Quite right,” Jemma nodded, her cheeks now slightly sore from all the exertion and blushing, and turned around to enter the lab, looking back once again to smile at him after the doors had whooshed closed behind her. He raised his hand once again and left. Jemma headed distractedly towards her desk, followed by Fitz’s gaze the entire time. Still not having acknowledged him, he asked pointedly, “Who was that meathead?”

 

“Ugh, Fitz, be nice. He’s name is Agent Milton and we’re going on a date tonight.”

 

Fitz’s eyebrows went up so high and so fast, they almost lifted off into space. “Wh…” he started saying, his head switching quickly between looking at the door and back at Jemma again. “Pfft,” he scoffed lowly and turned away. “Agent Cabbagehead, more like,” he mumbled.

 

But Jemma wasn’t listening. She was too busy smiling at herself, her head resting on her fists curled under her chin, rereading the same sentence of the article she had in front of her without grasping any of its meaning. She was congratulating herself on having solved a problem (one that was clearly adversely impacting her work) so practically and so efficiently. Jemma Simmons: 1, the human body’s feeble and predictable biology: 0. Now that that was sorted, she shook her head with a soft exhale and started reading in earnest. Model employee, Jemma Simmons PhD PhD, she let herself think only briefly before going back to the text.

 

“Jemma, what about my Coke?” Fitz asked testily, his question going unheeded.


End file.
